


Express Yourself

by swagwisegamgee



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Dw it gets good I promise, Elrond isn't the sugardaddy, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, I just love that tag, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lawyer!Elrond, Lindir doesn't stay sugarbaby for long I promise, Lindir doesn't want to go back to College, Lindir is sugar baby, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poor Haldir, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Stoner!Lindir, Tags to be added, Thorin might not even be in this, something goes wrong, sugar daddy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagwisegamgee/pseuds/swagwisegamgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a stint in College, Lindir graduates with second-class honours in publishing.  Lindir's friends & family expect big things. Lindir just wants to smoke big blunts. After living the 'high' life with his sugardaddy for too long, something goes wrong. Then comes Elrond, Lawyer extraordinaire. </p>
<p>Sorry I'm so shit at explaining stories but basically Lindir ends up with Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary Jane

**Author's Note:**

> At this point I'm not sure who to appoint as Lindir's sugardaddy so please hurl suggestions. I was thinking possibly Thranduil? For those of you unfamiliar with the term "sugardaddy", it is basically an older, rich guy who financially supports his "sugarbaby", a younger, hotter individual who offers 'companionship'.

Lindir awoke to the haze of his fifth floor, single bedroom apartment in New York. He went to block his eyes from the sunshine but they only went so far before smacking back down to hit him in the face. The sweet tingle left over made him laugh until his abs were aching, again. It was Friday and there had been nothing else to do. 

He’d gotten high. 

The crisp cleanness of his sheets scratched perfectly against his face as he inhaled the smell of the laundry powder he’d used yesterday. His duvet, on the other hand, lay ruffled in perfect contrast, the sweet softness coming up to meet his supple naked form. It was a perfect afternoon for the aspiring graduate. Lindir once thought that the purpose of study was to achieve a qualification for a job. Now he understood it was the perfect excuse to move out of home. It’d been five months since he’d got out with second-class honours. His parents had been proud enough, but god _damn_ if Lindir hadn’t been relieved. It was time to finally move about at the pace he wanted. And right now that pace was glacial. Rent was being paid by his sugar daddy and so long as he could fit his arse into the tightest jeans he owned, that really wasn’t going to be an issue for the foreseeable future. 

Work in publishing had been stunted somewhat in the last year. After visiting eight different firms, going to five interviews and getting three call-backs, Lindir was left with one internship that he couldn’t be fucked attending. 

Quite frankly, he’d only gone for the internship so that he could feed his parents some excuse for not doing postgrad. One degree had just about killed everything fun in Lindir’s life and he wasn’t going back for more. 

Yawning half-heartedly, Lindir ran his hands down his naked chest, enjoying the pins and needles it left in his fingers. With a stretch and no small amount of effort, he’d pulled himself up into a half seated position, merely metres away from his record player. He sauntered over to the old relic and flipped over the Roy Ayers Ubiquity album until it played Everybody Loves the Sunshine. He’d found it sometime last summer in his dads’ closet, bundled up in a box labelled “College”. Obviously it’d been from his Dad’s academic days, but Lindir figured he needed it more. 

The whole apartment filled itself with the lazy groove until Lindir found himself nodding along. He was so mellow that he must’ve completely missed something. No cat meowing for food, no plants to water and no annoying neighbours. Just the repetition of the bass and piano in the background of his mind, opening up his body to a whole new experience of meditation. 

Lindir shrugged but didn’t search too far into his hazy mind for the answer. As far as he was concerned, it was time to kick up on the couch and watch Judge Judy until the postman delivered his mail-order bong. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Haldir buzzed furiously at the bottom of the upscale apartment complex. He jabbed the button in pure rage, glaring daggers at Lindir’s name underneath the button, as though that alone would set his friend on fire. 

After five minutes, he was finally greeted with a wheezy “Uh, hey.”

The blonde squinted at the intercom speaker in front of him, in the same way he imagined Moses must’ve squinted at the sky when God first said “Dude, write this down.”

“Excuse me?” the intercom continued, completely oblivious to Haldir’s sudden, out-of-character epiphany. “You like, buzzed.” The intercom voice tried again to reach the blonde, before surrendering to tufts of stunted laughter. 

Haldir, in utter disbelief, slammed down the intercom button with a quick “Let me up now”. 

The intercom, acting as some divine personal assistant to the entity above (known otherwise as a very stoned Lindir), binged once. Haldir shook his head and walked through to the lobby, planning in exact detail how he was going to punch Lindir right in the throat. 

He’d walk up to the Brunette’s door and knock on it like he wasn’t completely and utterly pissed. Lindir would stumble up, giving Haldir enough time to press against the wall and hide behind the door once it opened. Lindir, already disoriented, would wander out. Then Haldir would emerge from the shadows with a sucker punch right to the windpipe. 

But what Haldir couldn’t account for was how beautifully adorable Lindir looked, especially when sleep ruffled and high. Knocking on the door, Haldir sucked in deep breaths through his teeth and tried to tap into his inner Zen. 

When the door opened it was like a school of college freshmen had been hotboxing in Lindir’s apartment. Smoke tendrils curled out sensuously from behind the Brunette, who was incredibly naked against the doorframe. Haldir blinked away inappropriate mental images before shoving Lindir back into the hallway, slamming the door behind them. 

But when Haldir got inside, Rick James’ Mary Jane was playing on the record player, making him temporarily abandon his inner rage. “What is this, national let’s-be-twenty-again day?” 

Lindir flipped him off, swinging his hips into the kitchen to rummage through the packed fridge. Haldir, expertly ignoring the pert, naked rump in front of him, leaned over to examine the phenomenon. Kale, carrots, celery, organic soy milk, chia puddings and champagne stared back out at him. 

“Where the hell did this all come from?” Haldir swallowed thickly, cogs crunching and grinding away in his brain. 

“Uh,” Lindir supplied, suddenly more sober than he had been, “Just from the store.”

“With what money?” Haldir asked, incredulous that his unemployed friend would have the currency to afford his rent, let alone food. 

Lindir threw a well-aimed kick behind him into Haldir’s thigh, making the other mans’ leg buckle. “With my money, dick.”

Haldir shook off the equation that very nearly didn’t add up and focused on the reason for his visit. “Where the hell were you today!? Everyone waited for you.”

Lindir winced, praying to any deity above that he hadn’t forgotten what he thought he had. “You mean, that one meeting I had to attend was actually today?”

Haldir slammed his bag down on the kitchen counter. “No, Lindir. What I actually mean is you’ll have to travel to the other side of town before you find an employer who hasn’t heard about your _colossal_ cockup.”

Lindir sighed resolutely, running a hand through his silken hair. “So what? The company CEO sends out his PA who waits on an intern who doesn’t show up. It’s not the end of my world.”

Haldir bit his tongue, trying to word his message in the best way possible. “The CEO didn’t send a PA, he came himself.”  
Lindir went pale. “How was I supposed to know?”

Haldir raised a brow but continued. “You weren’t. But now you look like the biggest ass to grace New York. Greenwood publishing won’t touch you. I hope you don’t mind using your degree as a drink coaster for the next five years.”

Haldir waited patiently for the penny to drop. Lindir would realise what a huge mistake he’d made and lament his inevitable downward spiral into financial ruin. He’d beg Haldir to help him find a minimum wage job anywhere else. Lindir would reach forward to sob his heart out into the blonde’s tailored suit. Haldir would calmly rub down Lindir’s back like only he could, before calmly reassuring him that he’d sorted it out already. Greenleaf was ready to reassess the situation if Lindir called in to explain why he couldn’t be there.

It was a little cruel, but the brunette needed a wakeup call. He couldn’t spend his life tucked away, living above his means in an apartment that he knew he couldn’t afford. Haldir winced at the potential credit card debt his friend was harbouring. It was time to stop smoking dope and grow up.

But the penny never dropped. In fact, it never even came close to being dropped. Lindir chuckled and almost looked pleased at the thought of an eternity spent in day-time television limbo. Haldir blanched as the younger man sauntered past and murmured to himself ‘fuck degrees’. 

Haldir watched in utter mortification as Lindir started humming One Love whilst flipping off his degree, which hung helplessly in the hallway. 

“Lindir!” Haldir needed an intervention, quickly. “This isn’t a game!”

Lindir’s head snapped back to his friend, taking in the look on Haldir’s face. It took most of his self-restraint, but Lindir realised if there was one friend who could probably ruin his entire life, it was Haldir. The fact was, Haldir probably didn’t agree with whatever it was that seemed to be happening to Lindir’s life. 

Sighing, Lindir stopped to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Now he didn’t just need a half-arsed internship to placate his parents, but he needed a baby-sitter for Haldir too. It turned out that the easy life needed Lindir to haul arse just as much as trying to find a successful career. At least he enjoyed the former more than the latter.

To Haldir, the tired, worn-out Lindir looked like he was experiencing a change of heart. 

“There we are darling. I know it’s hard but I’ll reschedule this one, just this once. And only because it’s you.” The blonde gave Lindir a once over, nose wrinkling at his still naked attire. 

Lindir wisely agreed, knowing that it was easier to say yes. He supposed some things would take much longer to change than his attitude. There had always been a passive quality to Lindir that inspired people to treat him as though it was his life’s duty to serve. _Lindir dear, do this won’t you? Lindir darling, you really shouldn’t_. Lindir supposed it was the quiet solitude he chose, paired with his effeminate features that made people assume and take over.

This was no different. Lindir swallowed and nodded his head, hoping it struck just the right balance between shame and guilt. Haldir seemed to swell at this and reached down to pick up his bag, which had been forgotten on the counter beside the ikea dining table. 

“Well, I hope you can come up with something good enough to convince the company. I’ll drop in before the interview and help you through the motions.” 

Lindir smiled at his friend, marvelling at how he could love such a metaphysical pain in the arse. Truly, he adored Haldir, in the weirdest of ways. But he was certain he’d have to keep him at arm’s length until he was decidedly ‘adult’ enough to be left alone to make his own decisions. Apparently at twenty-six he was still in his early teens as far as everyone else was concerned. 

Watching his friend walk out the apartment door, Lindir didn’t relax again until he was finally alone.


	2. Little Dove in the Lions Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir is dragged into Thranduil's immoral business dealings. The start of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so I've decided on Thranduil! Lindir really is more naive than he thinks unfortunately, but then again we know this! He's gonna need an Elrond!Lawyer by the end of this, I promise.

Lindir found himself at the subway at three in the morning, hoping to god his phone battery held up a little while longer. He was only a few stops away from home, but the deep navy Henley he’d worn had done nothing all night to keep him warm. He wrapped his arms around his torso, cursing his choice to wear his skinny jeans and white vans instead of something warm and protective. He felt like an idiot, knowing he’d deliberately left behind his RM Williams rain breaker, deciding if he got too warm it’d be a bulky pain in the arse to carry around. 

Maybe it was that he’d spent the previous week sober, or the multitude of bills that had arrived this morning, but Lindir found himself re-evaluating every decision he’d ever made that had brought him to this point in time. 

Fëanor had convinced his gallery owner that he’d needed to retouch one of his graffiti works before the opening night on Saturday. Obviously, Fëanor’s works were characteristically perfect. Instead, he’d grabbed the keys, opened the joint, turned up the music and called around until everyone living within a hundred mile radius had turned up   
for the party of the year. 

Lindir shook his head. That kid was a genius, but he was _still_ obsessed with outdoing the mystery party kings of NY. It’d been a huge night, but Lindir needed to get home.  
He was supposed to be up and ready first thing in the morning for his "date". If there was one thing he really had to stress over, it was that he couldn’t afford to smell like cheap champagne and weed. Thranduil would be _pissed_.

The guy was arguably the most gorgeous business man on the east coast. Lindir wasn’t usually one to gloss over details, but he didn’t even know the man’s last name. He’d met him at one of the upscale cocktail parties that Haldir had dragged him along to. Lindir was supposed to dress nicely, smile politely and keep quiet for the whole night. But he’d escaped at one point to the high rise balconies for a fucking cigarette.

Thranduil had been up there, evidently expecting someone important. What he hadn’t expected was a fresh-out-of-college kid to make his way unknowingly through the VIP section to his personal, private balcony. 

Thranduil had gotten a kick out of it. When the blonde cleared his throat and raised a brow, Lindir froze, before offering him a cigarette from the pack. Thranduil practically had to drag his eyes away from Lindir’s legs and it didn’t go unnoticed. Lindir knew his own worth and had been told on numerous occasions how good he looked in a tailored suit. The truth was though, that Lindir still felt like a little kid in his Dad’s clothes, playing dress ups at a party he didn’t belong at. It didn’t help that there was something alluringly predatory about Thranduil. The blonde had turned to his attendant on the balcony and instructed him not to let anyone else up, expected company or otherwise.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Now Lindir sat on the early morning subway resting his eyes, needing to get as much sleep as he could before waking up at eight in the morning to sweat the alcohol out of his body and go through his skin-care regime. 

It was going to be tough work but Lindir was sure he could get himself ready on time. He’d only ever truly fucked up once and had promised himself never to let it happen again.   
His livelihood was dependant on Thranduil’s desire and he really didn’t want to deal with being an independent adult just yet. 

The blonde wanted to feel like he’d tamed and cultured a young, rowdy stray, and that was exactly the part Lindir would play. He was just nodding off as his phone buzzed treacherously. Caller ID flashed ‘private number’, but Lindir knew better than to answer. Thranduil knew he only ever carried his phone when he was going out. He was checking to see if Lindir had broken any rules by going out the night before a date. 

Lindir had only ever made the mistake of answering a call once, but Thranduil wasn’t an idiot. No matter how well he laid on his best ‘I-just-got-woken-up’ voice, if it wasn’t real, Thranduil could tell. 

Instead, the brunette let his phone ring out before the subway train eventually came to stop, allowing him to finally walk the ten minutes home where he could collapse for a few more hours.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lindir groggily smashed his hand down on the offending alarm clock while shielding his eyes with the other arm. The clock face read 8:00am, giving him two and a half hours to make sure he was in tip-top shape. 

Shooting up out of bed, Lindir half-jogged to the ensuite bathroom, flipped on the heat lights and got a warm bath on the go. Cold water was probably far better for his complexion but it wouldn’t wash away the grime and alcohol sweat from his body. Hot water would have relaxed his muscles, again, but it would have dried out his skin. He had to be on his best game.

He dashed out to the linen cupboard to retrieve two pristine, white towels and left them by the tub. He shrugged off his (frankly dirty) pyjama bottoms and immediately hopped in. 

Next he was on to applying a detox face masque, putting his mouth guards (with whitening gel) on his bottom and top teeth and finally running a leave in conditioner through his hair, securing it in a top-knot. If anyone saw him they’d know what an idiot he looked like. But it was all Lindir could do not to look like he’d solidly abused his body for the last four months and counting.

After exfoliating, rinsing everything out and taking out his mouth guards, Lindir drained the tub and dried himself off. Once he’d wrapped his hair, he scrubbed his face at the basin and patted it dry before applying an eye serum and facial moisturiser.

If there was something Thranduil was pernickety over, it was definitely hair. Lindir had to make sure his was perfect, taking extra time out to grab a paddle brush and hair dryer to straighten it. He sighed, annoyed at the time it took. Next he used a barrel brush to remove any static and sealed the sleek finish with some hair-spray, carefully brushing back over the film to make sure each hair strand was thoroughly separated from the other.

He took his time, running his fingers down his hair and frowning at any pieces that dared to flick at the end. Deciding it would be best to leave his hair down, Lindir cautiously secured it behind his ears with two small braids intertwined at the back. He’d picked out some designer jeans (courtesy of Thranduil) and a soft, cable-knit jumper in purple. He wasn’t sure who else, if anyone, Thranduil would be seeing, so it was best to dress for smart-casual. He had a black pea-coat and some oxfords he could wear as well. 

Wearily eyeing the clock, Lindir decided he’d do some stretches to limber up and appear less hung-over before leaving the flat.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Ah, there he is!” Thranduil fluidly motioned to the carefully paced brunette, whom was only just rounding the corner in front of the elegant café. 

Thranduil was dressed in a perfectly cream sweater which hung from all the right places, some dark blue denims and light brown brogues. His hair had been neatly tied off at the back, giving him the ‘casual dad’ weekend look. Only, there was no way in hell Thranduil looked ‘dad’ enough to have _actually_ had children. Lindir was sat across from an athletic looking woman with impossibly long, deep auburn hair, right next to Thranduil. They were actually so close that the brunette may as well have been sitting in his lap. 

Thranduil, as ever, was in control of the situation. To be perfectly honest, for the brunette who had no connections with anyone Thranduil invited out, it suited him to a tee.

“Lindir, _angel_ , this Tauriel,” the woman inclined her head and smiled as Thranduil shot him a sly wink. “She’s my very dear friend”. 

Tauriel blushed under the attention, the colour to her cheeks illuminating her wide, blue eyes. Lindir blinked owlishly. If he wasn’t the one in the ‘mutually-beneficial relationship’ he’d probably be intimidated by the young woman’s dangerously good looks.

Lindir smiled warmly and looked to Thranduil for directions. The blonde simply cocked a brow at him and smiled back, signalling that Lindir was on his own. Tauriel looked between the two of them as though she knew something Lindir didn’t know and frankly, it made him nervous. The brunette decided that there was nothing like small talk, so he decided to do some digging. 

“So Tauriel, where did you meet Thranduil?” he spoke measuredly, still not sure how to place himself yet.

She laughed, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Lindir saw Thranduil lounge back into his chair from the corner of his eye, noting his blissfully relaxed posture. He figured there was no better lie than the truth. “We didn’t meet, we kind of just happened.”

Tauriel seemed impressed. By what, Lindir had no idea. “So it would seem. Thran and I met when he hired me to help set up his firm.” 

Lindir’s brain went into overdrive, knowing it would look very bizzare if Thranduil’s ‘lover’ knew nothing about him or his personal life. He opted out for short and sweet. “Oh?”

Tauriel seemed oblivious to the brunette’s turmoil but continued for his benefit. “Well, Legolas’ firm. Thranduil wanted me to mentor him.”

Thranduil yawned from behind the two of them, blocking the noise with his hand, “Business talk is so dull. Can’t we chat about _anything_ else?”

Lindir’s eye twitched in annoyance, knowing Thranduil was playing him for his own amusement. If he’d simply given him a cue, the brunette would know what to say and what to avoid. Honestly, Lindir almost wondered how funny it would look to leave right now, forcing Thranduil to explain to his _dear friend_ just why his ‘lover’ had so suddenly exited.

“Let’s order” Tauriel offered, which was apparently the right thing to say. Thranduil immediately brightened.

He signalled a waitress over and looked to Lindir to order first. Lindir, who always ordered _after_ Thranduil and ate exactly the same goddamn thing to avoid consequence. The blonde insisted on being quietly infuriating, for whatever reason Lindir was completely unknown to.

“Just a latte for me thanks,” Lindir offered, trying to play it safe.

Thranduil took on a concerned expression, immediately placing his hand on Lindir’s forearm and stroking it gently with his thumb. “Dear, please.”

Lindir’s act shifted to reality without the brunette realising, “Sorry?” he asked incredulously.

The blonde didn’t miss a beat. “Please, I know it’s hard but you need to eat something, love.”

Tauriel watched on like a stranger witnessing something intimidate. Lindir could see her shifting uncomfortably in front of Thranduil, almost torn between saying something or staying silent. Lindir wasn’t sure which would be better.

“Maybe you’d like to order then?” Lindir continued passively, waiting for something in the situation to finally make sense.

Thranduil cleared his throat as though it were clogged with emotion. “Lindir, I think you should stop avoiding this.”

Tauriel chewed her lip worriedly, unconsciously wringing her hands. Lindir felt lost and slightly embarrassed, unsure of what exactly Thranduil was trying to imply. After all, he was only supposed to be akin to hired help. He was just a mere convenience. He’d shift things around and clear schedules so that if Thranduil needed a date for a function or someone to show off to his friends, he would be there. Before it had gotten to be hard work, it was actually nice. 

Lindir wasn’t sure what Thranduil stood to gain by being such an insufferable _dick_. But apparently the blonde felt the need to continue. “We’ve discussed this before and if you feel like you can’t support yourself emotionally, there’s nothing wrong with getting help.”

Only Thranduil seemed to know just how to make Lindir really, really fucked off. He dropped character straight away, deciding to show him that he’d had more than enough.

“I don’t need help for the emotions involved in choosing _food_ Thranduil, I’m not eleven.” His tone was icy but it didn’t garner the reaction he expected.

“I’m so sorry about this Tauriel, he’s having a really hard time.” Thranduil took on a patronising tone, but Lindir could see he was really twisting it.

“No, please, don’t trouble yourself on my account” Tauriel sounded almost like she was trying to placate Lindir. Wait, _was she?_

“Look, I’m just going to order the toast or whatever,” Lindir started ineloquently, not giving two shits what he sounded like. “Jesus, I’ll even spread butter on it all by myself if you’d like.”

Thranduil shut his eyes balled up one hand in a fist, though it wasn’t supposed to be threatening. In fact, there was no anger behind the action, only concern. Lindir was sorry for   
the poor waitress, right up until she offered him a sympathetic smile. Then it dawned on him, because he was slow as fuck this morning. He silently cursed that whole blunt last night and the half-tonne of finger food at Fëanor’s party. 

“Wait, Thranduil, you don’t think I’m starving myself?” Lindir verified, needing to iron this out, company or no.

“You don’t have to pretend in front of our guest, sweet pea, she knows.” Thranduil said dramatically, leaving Lindir in no doubt of what the hell was happening.

“Excuse me?,” Lindir didn’t care if all the bills in his apartment got billed straight to his own credit card this quarter, Thranduil could eat shit.

Thranduil sucked in a breath between his teeth and looked painfully at Tauriel, who gushed in sympathy for her friend. Again, because Lindir was comparable to a sloth, he realised that his anger had been carefully harvested to make Thranduil’s ploy more convincing.

Lindir growled and left the table with Thranduil hot on his heel.

By the time Lindir was around the corner and out of earshot of the café, Thranduil was laughing behind him as though he’d heard the funniest joke ever. He reeled around on the blonde, knowing he was at the very end of his tether.

“What the hell was that?” Lindir’s voiced rose in pitch as he half-yelled, half-spoke at the man in front of him.

Thranduil guffawed, evidently chuffed with himself. He really did look like the cat that got the cream. “Sorry,” Thranduil took a step, leaning into the Brunettes space. “I thought this was all up to me?”

The taller blonde grabbed onto the collars of Lindir’s pea coat and brought him in. “There’s a campaign going at Tauriel’s firm, they’re hosting an eating disorder awareness week. I wanted the deal.”

Lindir recoiled at the thought and firmly pulled Thranduil’s long, delicately boned fingers from his pea-coat. “You’re despicable.”

Thranduil cocked back his head and laughed, loudly and most genuine. It was nearly unnerving. Lindir raised a single brow at the other man, knowing he was dubious at best, but not taking him for the heartless bastard in front of him. 

“You’re looking at a man who pays for companionship and yet you question my means of securing business deals? Sweetheart, that’s precious.”

Lindir’s eye twitched, but he held it together. In all honestly, Lindir had mastered nearly every aspect of the art of performance. Fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Lindir plastered on his best ‘please-tell-me-I’m-not-an-accomplice-look’ that he could possibly muster.

Thranduil’s positively sly gleam in his eyes lost its edge and somewhat softened. He sighed deeply and placed his hand on Lindir’s shoulder. “You’re so–”

“So–?” Lindir cut in, turning up the high-beam on his puppy-dog eyes.

“So naïve.” Thranduil decided with a cold finality. 

Lindir’s gaze lingered a little while longer. Chewing his lip, the brunette watched worriedly, not quite knowing where this put him in relation to Thranduil. The blonde ignored Lindir in favour of pulling   
out his iPhone 6 and languidly tapping out some command or another to be completed by god knows which magical elves currently making Thranduil’s’ life run smoothly. 

The blonde glanced up and Lindir was hit by a sudden look of total, utter adoration. Thranduil stepped forwards and pulled Lindir in, seemingly innocent in his intentions and threading his arms around the smaller man.

Tenderly, he placed his mouth up against Lindir’s ear and mumbled throatily, “You know, you really are perfect in every way, my little dove. You looked radiant today. Meet me again? In three days?”  
Lindir swallowed thickly and nodded, instantly pulled in by the older man’s effortless grace. Despite his major arse-holery, Thranduil was a smooth operator. The blonde pulled back and gave Lindir a sparkling smile, worth almost all of the shit he’d copped for the day.

Then, without so much as a goodbye, the other man sauntered off and signalled Lindir with the “OK” sign, letting Lindir know he was free. Until next time.


	3. Hots on for Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir receives an important phone-call from Feanor, Haldir finds out about Thranduil but suspects more, Orophin and Rumil are dragged in to save Lindir.

Lindir reached over and pulled his iPhone out from his particularly comfy jacket, both pleased and unsurprised to see Fëanor’s caller ID on the screen. His strange friend had always had a bizzare habit of calling at the most unexpected times. Despite this, he was never unwelcome. Those who knew Fëanor simply treasured him, whilst those that did not were often either intrigued by him or otherwise confused by his nature. 

Lindir _always_ answered Fëanor’s calls, replied to his texts and even wrote back to him once using snail mail. His time, like his advice, was a gift. He didn’t give it out freely to many people, but to his friends, he was generous.

“Hullo my blueberry scone,” Fëanor greeted, sounding more bored than anything else.

Lindir wheezed at the stupid nickname, questioning Fëanor’s shreds of sanity. “And why am I your blueberry scone today?”

Fëanor answered as if it were the most natural progression in the world, “I feel like a cup of Yorkshire tea today.”

Lindir grinned madly and scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his comfy jacket. “Why didn’t you just go drink a cup of Yorkshire tea then?”

“Because you dollop of whipped cream, I don’t feel like drinking one, I feel like I resemble one. Anyway, I wondered to mesself, who is the most like a blueberry scone?”

Lindir laughed. “Go on then.”

“You!” Fëanor sounded far too amused at himself and Lindir vaguely wondered whether he ought to be encouraging him. Truly though, Lindir knew him to be quite shrewd sometimes and even conservative when the time came.

Fëanor ambled on, revealing the truth behind his call. 

“So, you must know that Haldir’s hair is falling out because of you.” 

Lindir went pale briefly, but had never known Fëanor to be the scolding type. “And _you_ know that he has no reason to be losing his hair over me, right?”

Fëanor squinted at the sketch that he was working on, letting the conversation lapse for a few silent moments, before picking back up on the social cue. 

“Uh, yes. He does though,” Fëanor searched through his head for the right words, “because there’s something you’re not telling anyone and we’d appreciate it if you spilled to someone.”

Lindir choked on thin air, sputtering on practically nothing but unable to speak nonetheless. Fëanor silently congratulated himself on his new conversation tactic. 

“Everything’s fine, you can talk to anyone. But _someone_ has to know what’s going on.” Fëanor concluded, putting on his best impartial tone. It was always better to be diplomatic, especially with the docile Lindir. He didn’t want to assume or push through his friend’s thoughts. Most people didn’t realise but it only served to make the other man more resistant. 

“ _Someone_ has to know so that they can tell everyone else.” Lindir huffed, completely unimpressed.

“No, Lin, it’s so that one of us can identify your dead fucking body when it turns up in the Hudson River.” Fëanor quipped, knowing that whatever Lindir was hiding was also troubling him.

Lindir moaned painfully and fell down onto his couch, shielding his eyes from the world. “If I tell you, you mottle-headed brain worm, you won’t tell another soul,” Lindir was interrupted by Fëanor. 

“Of course!”

“-you’ll not tell another soul and you’ll-,”

“Obviously,” Fëanor replied eagerly. 

“AND,” Lindir continued, “You’ll stop interrupting me. You’re not allowed to speak during the whole thing.” 

“Is that all?” Fëanor asked with the wonder of a five year old being told they could have anything they wanted for Christmas. 

“No questions either.” Lindir added, just to be safe. He practically heard Fëanor slump on the other end of the line. 

“How about questions at the end?” he tried.

Lindir grumbled, wanting to make the whole process as painful as possible. “Fine. Questions at the end.”

Fëanor took a moment to make sure his graphite wouldn’t smudge on the couch, before setting down his sketch and folding his legs up in front of him. Once the rustling went silent, Lindir took that as his cue to begin.

“Four months ago at Haldir’s ‘net-working’ thing, I met this guy,” he heard a gasp from Fëanor but continued over the top of his friend, “who’s some big-shot company CEO or something. No, I don’t know which company. He’s called Thranduil. I don’t know his last name so don’t ask. He pays for my rent and utilities, buys me gifts and gives me an allowance. I wear the tightest clothes I own and sit on his lap at dinner parties and make him look like he’s got a young lover. All finished?”

Fëanor groaned as outrageously as he possibly could. “How _old_ is he?”

Lindir replied indignantly, even though he knew it was a reasonable question. “Um, no older than in his early forty-somethings. I’m not with an eighty year old.”

Fëanor wasn’t impressed, to say the least. “Lindir this is stupid and even you know it.”

Lindir’s voice rose ten octaves and his face turned blotchy with red, as it did when he was irrationally angry. “Excuse _you_ , it's a mutually beneficial relationship from which I get plenty of free things, I’m not _stupid_ ” he spat venomously.

“It’s not free,” Fëanor supplied sadly, “Your time and personality are precious. They can’t be bought and you’re cashing them in for things that you’d feel much more accomplished getting yourself.”

Lindir rolled his eyes, but felt more than a little touched. “It’s really not how you make it sound.”

Fëanor blanched, knowing that Lindir had to be convinced. “The real cost, Lindir, is your independence. You’re not your own person without it and I’ll miss you.”

Lindir swallowed thickly and wow he really didn’t think he’d be so affected. “Alright, so let’s say I stop seeing him. I have no job, no substantial assets and no means of supporting myself.”

Fëanor didn’t realise just how deep Lindir had gotten himself in, but still felt sickened at the helplessness Lindir seemed to radiate. He never, ever wished to see his friend caught in such circumstances, but knew it could only get better. 

“Lindir, has he been conditioning you? You have an honours degree, a network of professionals and friends who’d back you and you know you can stay here. With me, I mean. Forever.” Fëanor tried to sound as non-judgemental as he could, but knew if Lindir refused he’d have to tell someone else.

“You have everything you need, right inside of you. You’ve only got to find it within yourself to be strong and brave. I know you’re more than capable of taking the reins.” Fëanor added for good measure, knowing that he had to end on a somewhat decent note for his disheartened friend.

“Fëanor, that’s beautiful but for once I’m doing what I want to do.” Lindir replied measuredly.

“You mean, what Thranduil wants you do to.” Fëanor corrected.

“Look, I’m not planning on staying, alright? But I’m leaving because it’s what I want for myself, not for anyone else.” 

To say that Fëanor was mildly relieved was a huge understatement. “That’s all I want for you. To be your own person, okay?”

Lindir didn’t let the emotion clog up his throat, but replied with a curt “Yep” and nothing else. He knew if he tried to squeeze anything else out of his airway it wouldn’t come out right.

Fëanor went in for the kill. “So, move in with me?”

Lindir blinked back dust (not tears) from his eyes and sniffled a little bit, because he had allergies (and wasn’t emotional). “Uh, yeah. Help me pack?”

“I’m on my way, don’t fret.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Lindir paced his furnished apartment, minus everything that belonged to him, and tugged at the ends of his hair anxiously. The whole thing about leaving Thranduil in the dust was, it wasn’t that easy. The guy knew so much about Lindir that it was doubtful he’d be able to make a clean break without ever seeing the blonde again. There was bound to be a confrontation or something. 

And it’s not like he’d been playing Lindir too terribly. He’d never strung Lindir out or made him wait for things to be paid for. He was always forthwith about what he wanted and to be honest, Lindir found him just a tiny bit charming.

It felt like more than a betrayal to leave without offering so much as an explanation. He felt like, if anything else, he owed Thranduil one. 

Fëanor on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. If anyone was willing to pay for Lindir like he was chattel, then that person could deal with the case like it were a ‘loss of property’. It’s not like Thranduil treated Lindir like he was the most unique, special being to come into existence. If Thranduil needed a pet, he could go down to the pet shop. He clearly had the  
money for it. 

Lindir’s phone rang and the brunette’s head snapped up to Fëanor’s. Placing a finger over his mouth, Lindir’s expression screamed murder if Fëanor so much as sneezed. 

“Hello?”

“Lindir, angel,” Thranduil’s static-y voice buzzed quietly next to Lindir’s ear. Fëanor drew his eyebrows together in a frown and mouthed silently ‘speaker-phone’. Lindir shook his head vehemently, until Fëanor kicked him in the shin. 

Lindir let out a tiny _oomphf_ , but complied angrily. 

“Sorry, what?” Thranduil said, voice as clear as crystal now that he wasn’t trapped between the ‘phone and Lindir’s ear.

“Um, nothing. It’s not anything.” Lindir said placidly. 

“I thought as much,” Fëanor mouthed Thranduil’s cocksure words, making Lindir struggle not to laugh. “I’ve scheduled a date for us, tomorrow.”

Lindir nodded and closed his eyes, pretending that Fëanor wasn’t standing right behind him and anticipating his every word. “Look, Thranduil, I’d really appreciate some of your time, I need–” 

“Money?” Thranduil supplied, sounding gleeful.

Fëanor wrinkled his nose, but Lindir carried on. “Actually, I really need to talk to you.”

Thranduil wanted to sigh laboriously and kick up a fuss, but he felt like the situation was more serious that he was giving credit. “Yes?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Lindir started.

“A dangerous thing.” Thranduil finished, making Fëanor turn red in the face trying to hold himself back.

“I don’t think this whole thing is for me.” Lindir supplied, pushing Fëanor backwards so that he fell on the couch and away from the phone.

“What thing isn’t for you?” Thranduil mused, “The apartment? The designer clothes? As far as I recall, they were all for you.”

Lindir bowed his head guilty but looked up to Fëanor who shook his head and glared at the phone. ‘You don’t owe him!’ he mouthed, which Lindir stupidly parroted back to Thranduil.

“I don’t owe you.” His voice sounded far away and like someone else was speaking. 

Unexpectedly, Thranduil seemed calm and collected. “Look, that’s fine. Whatever. At least have the decency to see me in person. Tomorrow. I’ve thrown a huge party and you might be able to network.” Thranduil offered, the deal sounding too good to be true.

Lindir fiddled with the hem of his jumper and cleared his throat, sounding unconvinced. “Why help me out?”

Thranduil didn’t even hesitate. “Because if you want to be rid of me, I want to be rid of you. Nice and clean, no mess. Come tomorrow, secure something and move along.”

Lindir nearly went cross-eyed at the prospect and even Fëanor looked content. So the guy wanted a clean break anyway? It was perfect. Lindir really couldn’t have gotten a better deal. Months of paid utilities, gifts and dates with no strings attached. Even the breakup was easy. 

“Deal.” 

“Fantastic,” Thranduil said sarcastically. “Tomorrow, at eight.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Haldir pushed his special-K around half-heartedly, far too mopey to eat or be of proper company. Fëanor raised his brow but said nothing, letting his friend stew a little while longer. It only took five minutes, but eventually Haldir sighed and threw his spoon down into the milk, making it splash up onto the table. Haldir sat and glared at the bowl until he felt ready to speak.

“It’s not right.” He looked up at Fëanor worriedly. 

Fëanor, with his long, black hair and sharp features, who didn’t even look the slightest bit worried. “Why not?”

“Who just lets something go like that?” Haldir said miserably, not trusting the situation. 

“Mate, he was _paying_ for Lindir like he’d pay a phone contract. He doesn’t value Lindir as an irreplaceable being, to him he’s just a thing. A thing you can buy. And the great thing about things you can buy, is that you can always go and buy another one.” Fëanor articulated, totally convinced. 

Haldir, however, had seen more of the dangers of the world than his friend. He knew that any man who owned a company into his forties was not stupid. Lindir would be a liability.  
He’d signed no nondisclosure forms, no contract or any legal document binding him to compliance or silence. No one ever left a loose end like that just hanging. 

Haldir didn’t agree, but because Fëanor had sworn himself to secrecy, he couldn’t go and confront Lindir. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bank on some insurance, just in case.

“I’m telling Orophin.”

Fëanor choked on his cornflakes. “Hell no.”

“Yes, I am. And he’s going to follow Lindir around tonight and make sure everything’s fine.” The blonde smiled to himself, feeling instantly better.

“Oh Jesus, Haldir, why don’t we go and call Rúmil too? Better yet, let’s call your whole family and get them in on it with us.” Fëanor had to admit, he was a little worried too. But  
how much damage was going to occur at a party, surrounded with people?

Haldir only cocked his head and nodded. “Alright, we’ll call Rúmil too.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Lindir made his way through one of the biggest crowds he’d ever seen. It was impossible not to have to touch people in order to wade through the masses around the dancefloor. 

There had to be thousands of people, all swaying this way and that, making Lindir quietly relieved at being invited to Thranduil’s private booth. Thankfully, Lindir really had put on the tightest clothes he owned, which made him more streamlined when weaving through the horde. 

Finally, Lindir made it up to the booth, but didn’t see a shock of blonde hair in sight. Rather, the booth seemed to be fairly empty, save for two other men who looked quite friendly. Unintimidated, Lindir slid up onto the leather seating across from them and asked if they’d seen Thranduil.

“Uh, no, didn’t he mention?” The lithe, honey brunette answered him. Lindir smiled in appreciation of how easy on the eyes he was, but forced himself to make eye contact with  
the other one.

The ‘other’ one happened to be gorgeous too. A deep blonde, though taller and definitely broader than his counterpart. He had bright green eyes which seemed to pierce through Lindir’s gaze. The hard stare was slightly uncomfortable, but not enough to make Lindir feel quite threatened. 

“He’s indisposed at the moment.” His deep voice was slightly accented but made Lindir shudder. It was warm, thick and dripped like syrup.

“Pelleas,” the honey-brunette offered his hand politely and Lindir shook it. “And this is Ayduin” he motioned to his friend, who winked at Lindir. 

Pelleas took the opportunity to lean over the table and talk about something animatedly, capturing Lindir’s rapt attention. He’d forgotten any initial anger over Thranduil showing him up, but figured it wasn’t half so bad. A free booth with two good lookers was pretty good consolation. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Meanwhile, Orophin was making his way through the doors, having just arrived. Instantly, it hit him like a sack of concrete that he’d never find Lindir in this crowd. Not even two minutes into the night and he’d already reached his first crisis. If Haldir was worried, then he had reason to doubt Thranduil’s intentions. Not having the Brunette within sight was making Orophin incredibly anxious. Moreover, the fact that Orophin knew he’d never get the Brunette within his reach was just about putting him into cardiac arrest. Fëanor had been under the solid impression that it would either be a cocktail party or an upscale function, with either less than two hundred guests or a detailed guest list. 

It looked like he was wrong on both counts. If someone had bothered to ask Lindir, maybe they’d be spared the near hospitalisation of Orophin himself and possibly his brother, if Haldir ever found out.

The issue was, Haldir really couldn’t find out. This whole thing had turned on itself into one huge clusterfuck. They were all really just college kids who graduated a few years ago, got out into the world and moved in next to each other. They all still rented, lived in shitty buildings and spent most of their income on useless shit like cheap beer, weed and cable. 

What the hell was Orophin even doing at one in the morning, with Rúmil, at some idiot’s party searching for Lindir?

This was nothing like showing up to one of Fëanor’s events, or a house-party gone wrong. Orophin was used to that kind of shit. Working as security at the local corner pub had made him used to working damage control. But this was way out of his league. 

Orophin vaguely wondered what happened to make Lindir turn himself into the arms of such a predator so willingly. It’s not as though Thranduil had ever beaten the younger man or abused him, but he was definitely older.

In Orophin’s eyes, he had certain responsibilities. Lindir was still so young in comparison. To drag him out here, with no friends and no connections and leave him in a sea of people was just _unfathomable_. And to be downright fair, no matter how many pretty trinkets Lindir got for his bird cage, Thranduil was taking advantage. 

Lindir hardly realised the position he’d put himself in. 

It was terrifying and it wasn’t as though something had expressly happened. It was like the story of Damocles, who wanted to be king for a day. He’d sat on the gold throne with a sword dangling above his head by a threadbare cord. It was the feeling of waiting for that something to happen. Lindir really needed to come home, right now. Orophin pulled out his phone, dialling Fëanor’s number. When his friend didn’t pick up, he left a message. 

“We can’t find him, at all. The party is a warehouse filled to the brim. Over a thousand people. He’s lost. You’ve got to call him.”


End file.
